


Rule Three

by futureboy (PokeRowan)



Series: Vagabond vs. In-Laws [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12117102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeRowan/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Jeremy's family are coming over, and they don't know he's in a gang. He'd like to keep it that way. (Hey, maybe a new boyfriend might distract them.)





	Rule Three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Useless19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless19/gifts).



> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]
> 
> Commissioned by @ireythegnome. Cheers very much!

Ryan Haywood is an excitable guy.

Now, most people don’t know this, because when he’s working, it’s very easy to play it off as a terrifying mania. An illegal-activity-induced delirium. Some frantic, spontaneous joy that strikes fear into the hearts of CEOs and shady, greedy business workers, all over San Andreas, and can’t be toned down.

Rule three of this afternoon had been:

 _don’t get excited_.

“Me? Excited? I’m calm. I’m _cool_.”

Jeremy had properly snorted at that. “If I wanted calm and cool, I would’ve asked Jack to pretend to be my partner. As it is, I’ve got you, because it’s more realistic to be nervous about--”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“ _Constantly,_ dude. You’re unquestionably the most worrying person I’ve ever worked with,” Jeremy had said drily. “Me being nervous? I get loud and start rambling. You get hyperactive and destructive, and that’s not what this afternoon’s about, so rule three? _Don’t get excited_.”

“And rule two, _play up the relationship for all it’s worth_ ,” Ryan had listed, “and rule one, _don’t tell your parents you’re in a gang._ I got it, man.”

Jeremy had looked at him suspiciously, but c’mon, they’re a battle team. An unstoppable force. They’ve robbed banks all over the city, and they’ve pulled off more ridiculous heists side-by-side than Ryan cares to count.

Surely helping out Jeremy with his family isn’t the hardest thing they’ve attempted together. He’s an excitable guy, sure, but it’s _one_ afternoon. Maybe, like, five hours of an afternoon. All Ryan has to do is tone it down, and despite his nerves, he goes over Jeremy’s briefing in his head:

 _Papa Dooley, fifty-three, no time for bullshit or pleasantries. If he wants info, he goes after it._ Jeremy says he’s an estate agent, and his name’s Seamus. That’s easy enough to remember - before the Fakes, Ryan used to work for a guy named Seamus.

 _Mama Dooley, fifty-five, particularly protective over her kids._ Her name’s Rima. She’s most likely going to ask questions about how they met, raise her eyebrows at the age difference, and possibly threaten him, but it’s an East Coast thing.

And, finally, _Abi Dooley. Twenty-four years old, and Jeremy’s little sister._ She’s got a heart of gold and fists of steel. Much more likely to threaten him, but with body language, rather than a sharp warning.

Ryan jitters, and tries to keep his cool, because keeping cool is an important thing that Jeremy wants. When his crewmate first approached him with the idea, it seemed obvious to Ryan that he’d be great at it. What was there to screw up? Play the perfect boyfriend, get a free meal in Jeremy’s penthouse, and hang out with people he doesn’t have to terrify. He doesn’t even have to _pretend_ to be in love with the man. (Despite his affinity for method acting - which he’ll _definitely_ employ at one point or another - Ryan’s been resigned to his infatuation with Jeremy for longer than he’d care to admit.)

But at least he’ll be acting. He’s been told multiple times - including, on one memorable occasion, by a gang boss he had a contract with - that he would be a _worrying_ boyfriend for a daughter to bring home. He’s aware he’s not exactly of the highest caliber when it comes to character, or morals, or occupation, or anything, really. But he can be charming when he wants.

So _charming_ he’s going to be.

They’re in Jeremy’s apartment. It’s one of the low-key purchases the man’s made during his time with the Fakes - small enough to be reasonable as a cover, but nice enough that it looks like he takes some serious pride in his home. It’s kinda weird to see Jeremy in plain jeans and a casual button down, but he blends in. God, the guy’s never looked so… _neutral_.

Jeremy’s undershirt is peeking through, and it’s pretty damn tight. All of a sudden, Ryan doesn’t miss the garish Rimmy Tim colours at _all_.

“When are they gonna be here?” he asks casually.

The buzzer goes off.

Jeremy freaks out _immediately_. “Oh, shit, they’re here. Fuck. Remember the rules, Ry, remember--”

And Ryan puts a hand on the side of Jeremy’s jaw, and wills him to make eye contact. “Calm down,” he says quietly, grinning, “we’ve got this. We’ve got real boring jobs, and we’re in love, and your family’s gonna be none the wiser. Yeah?”

“...Yeah,” Jeremy breathes. He closes his eyes, and buzzes them up.

Ryan busies himself with the coffee machine Gavin had picked out for the apartment, whilst Jeremy gets the door - _hey, how are you, it’s so good to see you, Mom_ -

And he pokes his head out of the kitchen doorway, and a stocky man with a sharply clean-shaven jaw takes up the entrance to the living room. The last time Ryan had seen him, he’d been in his mid-thirties and had much less grey hair, but now he’s middle-aged and somewhat softer with experience. In the business of gangs and territory, experience either softens you or hardens you, but even when he’d worked for him, Seamus Dooley had been a family man over everything else.

Ryan’s hand jerks, and he throws dry coffee grounds across the linoleum.

“And you must be Ryan!” Mr. Dooley says cheerfully.

Now, in the case of their rules for the afternoon, excited had not been limited to joyfulness, hyperactivity, or over enthusiasm - it could certainly be extended to anxiety, nervousness, and downright fear.

Ryan is afraid he’ll fuck this up for the guy he’s into.

(Ryan feels excitement begin to well up in his ribcage.)

He tries to extend a hand to the man, but ends up offering him the half-spoonful of coffee grounds he was about to refill the machine with. “Uh,” he says, pulling it back and setting it on the counter, wiping his hands on his jeans, oh _god_ , is he making a scene already? “Hi, yeah, I’m Ryan. It’s great to meet you. Sir,” he tacks on, as an afterthought.

That earns him laughter, right in his face. “Oh, please,” he wheezes, “call me Seamus. Not even my employees call me _Sir_.”

Ryan knows.

He’s not sure if there’s recognition flickering in the man’s eyes, or if it’s mere challenge, from a paternal point of view. Hopefully it’s the latter.

He mumbles his way through greetings, and tries not to hyperventilate. Abi Dooley has the same laugh as Jeremy does, but Mrs. Dooley has the same inquisitive eyes, that flicker over the whole house in search of answers. When he finally prepares and carries their coffees through, and carefully seats himself next to Jeremy for moral support - whether his own or his pretend boyfriend’s, he isn’t sure - they’re already laughing along with their son.

Man, Rima moves fast. Within _minutes_ she’s talking about Ryan’s life - “we were very surprised when Jeremy said he was dating you,” she says, where _you_ means _a man_. “Did you meet through work?”

“Something like that,” Ryan breathes, “we’ve had a couple of assignments together. I’m, uh… A programmer.”

“You always did have a thing for computer nerds,” Abi says to Jeremy, murmuring into the rim of her mug, and Jeremy flushes.

“And from what I understand, there’s a sizable age gap,” Rima continues. From most mother-in-laws, it might come off as judgemental, but she seems genuinely interested.

“Mom, please...”

“Ten years,” Ryan agrees, and wishes he had a mug of coffee to fiddle with. He doesn’t even like coffee.

“Forgive me asking, but why aren’t you dating someone your own age? Why Jeremy?”

“I,” he stammers.

“Honey, c’mon, don’t scare him off,” Seamus smiles. It’s hard to take it as friendliness when the Dooleys are sat opposite them, like some sort of judging panel, and Ryan feels his leg start to bounce. The last time he was opposite Seamus Dooley, it was to take a twenty per cent cut of the heist they’d pulled.

“I guess,” he says, trying to be honest, “I guess people my age aren’t very _nice_. For the most part. It’s hard, to find someone as amazing as Jeremy in a city like this. We’re a good team.”

This seems to satisfy Rima. She sits back and nods slowly, sipping; evidently, she’s not unaware of the dangers of living in Los Santos.

“You’re not from Los Santos, though,” questions Seamus.

“He’s from Georgia,” Jeremy says. “Hardly ever says darlin’, though, so it’s not worth it.”

Ryan snorts. “Hey, I used to pass through all sorts of places. It’s not my fault I lost all my Georgia charm, it was the travel--”

“You ever been to Boston?” says Seamus suddenly.

Ryan has been to Boston, and acquired quite the rap sheet in the few years he roamed Massachusetts for. He’s robbed banks from Stockbridge to New Bedford. He claimed gang territory for Seamus when he was barely eighteen, and now the man and his wife are practically interviewing him in some twisted sort of nightmare scenario.

“No, I haven’t,” Ryan lies, and it comes out strangled, and he chokes a little. “I, uh, um. Ex-excuse me. I have… Ah, potatoes to check on. Yeah.”

He gathers up the empty mugs and dashes back into the safety of the kitchen. The potatoes are fine, but he bastes them to distract himself. Man, Jeremy thought his dad was an estate agent - if only keeping secrets from two generations, with more in common than they thought, was as easy as cooking a Sunday dinner.

He slides them back in, and tries to slow his racing thoughts. He’s already broken Rule Three. _Jeremy_ , he thinks, _is gonna be fucking pissed_. No sooner has it crossed his mind than Jeremy himself slides into the kitchen and pulls him aside: “what the hell’s gotten into you?” the man hisses.

“Nothing!” Ryan squeaks, in a register that’s too high to be anywhere _close_ to the truth.

“Really?! Because it looks to me like you got excited and started freaking out!”

In situations like these, Ryan’s picked up a few tricks over the years. One such tactic is to distract your mark with a lesser problem that, preferably, they aren’t even aware of before it’s mentioned.

“Look,” he whispers, taking a deep breath, “I just… don’t wanna screw this up, okay? I’m not exactly the greatest guy to introduce to the family--”

“Oh, come on, Ryan, it’s _not real_.”

Ryan averts his eyes. The coffee grounds on the lino are demanding to be inspected.

“I… Is it?”

Ryan still doesn’t reply. He takes his oven mitt and throws it at the kitchen countertop dejectedly.

“...Oh, you _idiot_ ,” Jeremy says, and drags him down for the gentlest kiss Ryan’s ever received. “You fuckin’ moron. I didn’t realise my parents would _actually scare you_.”

“Yeah,” says Ryan. He’s too dazed to realise what he’s saying, because _Jeremy kissed him_ and it really, truly happened.

“Get some cutlery ready,” Jeremy says, “and also you’re a dumbass.”

Ryan does as he’s told, because his brain can only process external instructions right now. It’s simple to warm plates in the oven and carve meat and prepare gravy, because it’s not thinking about kissing Jeremy, and it’s not thinking about blurting out that they’re all in a violently bloodthirsty and rather infamous gang.

Dinner passes, with embarrassing childhood stories and updates on Abi’s Taekwondo competitions. With Seamus and Rima’s vintage car project. With Ryan’s expertise on digital security - _technically_ he knows quite a bit about the flaws in banking systems, but usually, he never has to spin it as though he’s trying to _fix_ the issue.

“Let me help you clean up,” Rima decides, when Ryan starts to clear the plates.

“It’s no trouble, really--”

Her look says otherwise.

And so Ryan finds himself alone in the kitchen, with Jeremy’s mother; to his immense relief, she seems to confirm a positive opinion.

“You’re good for him.”

He loads plates into the dishwasher. “Um. Thank you.”

“You kiss like it’s the first time,” she explains, nodding sagely. “That’s how I know.”

He tries to ignore the swooping in his stomach to smile at her genuinely; if that wasn’t frightening enough, he’s cornered by Abi as the family begin to say their goodbyes.

“Jeremy would be pissed if Mom and Dad said this,” she explains, tying up her hair - oh, _shit_ , that meant serious business. “So I’m going to, instead. _Don’t hurt my brother_.”

“I won’t,” he says, alarmed.

“You keep him safe… and I’ll keep Dad safe. Fair’s fair.”

She’s only five foot two, but _fuck_ if she’s not towering over him right now. “You _know?!_ ” he hisses, his eyes darting around the room, and Abi only smirks at him.

Last to say goodbye is Seamus.

“You know,” he says, “I’ve known a lot of guys like you, Ryan, but you’re the first I thought might be good enough for one of my kids.”

“Thank you, sir. _Seamus_. Yeah.”

Seamus roars with laughter and shakes his hand; the cuff of his shirt slides up his wrist, and reveals a taut-white streak of scar tissue. “It was great to meet you, kid,” he says, as Ryan holds his breath.

And then, after all the interrogations and conversations, and the threats, and the dancing around sensitive subjects, they’re _gone_ , and Ryan and Jeremy can finally relax.

“Good fuckin’ work, pal. They didn’t suspect a _thing_.”

“Yeah,” says Ryan, thinking about how he broke every rule. “...Sorry that I got nervous.”

Jeremy drags him down onto the couch with a mischievous smile. “We’re all fuckin’ nervous. No biggie. I think it went pretty well.”

Ryan kisses him. Yeah. It _did_ go pretty well.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com/) \- come say hi! >u<


End file.
